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Chapter 11
Mike figured that sooner or later, things were bound to thaw enough for the Henry Toivo Search Expedition to come off, even though each year that passed probably made any traces of Henry that much fainter. If, by some improbable chance they were to settle what
had happened to the young Amboy Township PFC back in '70, then maybe the ghost of Henry Tovio could be gone from his life. It was a lot to hope for.
The Toivo expedition had been "locked and cocked" for more than five years now, even though it seemed no closer to actually coming off than it had when it was first dreamed up many years before that. Gil Evachevski had promised Kirsten, and Henry's father,
Heikki, that if the chance ever came to go back to Vietnam and look for clues to what had happened to Henry, he'd go.
Back in '81, it had looked as if there might be a chance, and several local Vietnam veterans had agreed to come along with him. Although it was a consideration, Mike's peculiar relationship with Kirsten wasn't a major cause for the expedition; every man set to go on
the expedition had known Henry, and felt that settling the issue of what had happened was the best way they could pay their respects to him.
Unfortunately, the '81 expedition never came off, at least partly because the Spearfish Lake Vietnam veterans hadn't been ready when an admittedly slim chance came, and the chance was gone by the time they were ready. They decided that would never happen to
them again.
The Vietnam Veterans post was actually a result of the expedition. Most of the men who planned to go had been an informal veterans group for years before that, but they needed to have money in the bank to be able to make the trip, and organizing gave them tax-free
status. There were several pledges made for money, which Frank Matson at the Spearfish lake State Savings Bank had agreed to cover, and Kate Ellsberg, with a little pressure from her husband, had agreed to the Donna Clark Memorial Foundation chipping in a good share.
Though the post had taken over the moribund Amvets building and held fish fries and bingo twice a month to help fund the expedition, there was enough money available on short notice that it would not be a problem.
There were several men in Spearfish Lake that kept bags packed and passports and shot records current so that if the Vietnamese ever gave permission, they could be on the road for the airport in Camden in an hour. Gil Evachevski was one of them, of course, and so
were Mark Gravengood, Ryan Clark, as well as Bud Ellsberg, the railroad president, Harold Heikkinan, the football coach and athletic director, and Steve Augsberg, a production expediter at Clark Plywood. Frank Matson's half-brother, Rod, was also on the list, even though he
wasn't a Vietnam veteran; he was an archaeology professor, and Gil had long had a hunch that whatever they did was going to require a trained, professional dig. The group met once a month, to update the latest information about the chances of getting permission, and go over
skills that might be needed.
Some of them went even farther than that. Steve Augsberg had a special ear for languages, had learned some Vietnamese while on the American Embassy security staff in '74. On his own, he'd decided that the expedition would be better off if it wasn't totally
dependent on local interpreters, so he'd worked to keep up on and improve his knowledge of the language. He had the help of a Vietnamese refugee who had taken a crowded, leaky fishing boat to freedom back in '78 and through an improbable series of events wound up in Albany River.
The fact that Nguyen Binh Ky was a lovely girl in her early twenties may have had something to do with his continued interest; he married her in '83, but kept up with his language lessons. Binky, as everybody called her, had the group over to the house every now and
then for language lessons and Vietnamese food, so they'd be exposed to it, but drew the line at going back to Vietnam herself.
Even though Nguyen Binh Ky had only been seventeen when she stepped aboard that leaking fishing boat in 1978, she was thoroughly prepared to leave Vietnam behind her forever. In only a brief time, she had become thoroughly Americanized; she spoke English with
only a trace of an accent -- not Vietnamese, but California Valley Girl mixed with Boston, of all things. Televsion had something to do with that.
It was clear to everyone that knew Binky that she never would have made it in a communist Vietnam; she was too thoroughgoing a capitalist. She had gone to work for Northwoods Realty as a receptionist right after her marriage to Steve, and within a year was their
top salesperson. She had a touch for real estate that was almost uncanny. Prospects and listings somehow came out of the woodwork for her, and she was an utter magician for putting one and the other together. Success breeds success in real estate, and she had success to
build on.
Getting listings hadn't been a problem after she'd managed to sell the old Wayne and Donna Clark house for $450,000, about $400,000 more than Wayne's son, Brent, and Donna's son, Frank Matson, ever thought that anybody in their right mind would be willing to pay
for the old lumber baron's mansion. Very quickly, Binky's income had become several times what her husband made out at Clark Plywood, but most of it went back into real estate investments, so she and Steve lived modestly.
Without anything verbal tipping her off, she had realized within a few minutes Wednesday evening that getting Kirsten and Mike out of their old house and into a bigger one was going to have to be a deal done quickly, before it fell apart. Without knowing why, she'd
realized that Kirsten could back out of the deal, so she didn't waste any time getting some parameters to work from: At least four bedrooms, a little bit of land, fairly close to town, not a fixer-upper, at least a two-car garage and a septic tank. The reason for her client's insistence
on the last escaped her, but Kirsten really seemed anxious about the point.
"I think I've got just the place for you," she told them. "Four-bedroom ranch, built about 1960, well insulated, oil heat, full basement, three-car garage. It's on forty acres, mostly young pine and popples, and on a gravel road, which isn't necessarily a drawback if you
have young children. It'd be, oh, three or four miles out from downtown."
"Sounds pretty good," Mike admitted. "How much?"
"The owner wants seventy-four nine, but that kind of gags me, you know?" Binky replied. "Offer sixty-five cash, and you'd be in there so quick all you'd see is a blur."
"You know where we live," Kirsten said. "What's our house worth?"
"I don't know the house," Binky replied, "But from the neighborhood, you could probably forty-two or forty-five if you waited and the right person came along. I'd have to look at it, but I probably could get thirty-five right away." At thirty-five thousand, it would be a
fair price for a quick sale, but a good price. It was the sort of thing that she could afford to pick up, swing a six-month note with the bank, rent it out and wait for the right person to come along, which probably wouldn't take long. If someone were anxious to move, there was
money to be made.
"When can we see it?" Mike had asked. The numbers weren't out of line, assuming the house were in good shape; in fact, they were a little better than they'd hoped for
At two o'clock Thursday afternoon, Mike and Kirsten were riding in Binky's van out to the edge of town. They turned onto the state road, went out past the airport, and then east up County Road 427.
The house turned out to be on the side of a gentle hill, far enough up the hill to have a nice view over the lake to the west, and well up from a swamp along the road. It had a large yard, with plenty of lawn, which Mike knew would tend to keep the mosquitoes less
oppressive in the summer.
The house was empty; no one was living there. Binky showed them through the house, which was in good shape, and mostly carpeted. The three car garage happened to be in the sidehill basement, which didn't leave a lot of unused basement, but there was a small
pole barn out in back that could be used for a garage, too. It had a large kitchen, which overlooked that nice view, a big fireplace, and two full bathrooms and a half-bath. "Do you think they'd mind if I used the bathroom?" Kirsten asked.
"No problem," Binky said.
Kirsten was gone a long time, while Mike and Binky waited in the living room. "All right, Binky," he said after a moment, "What's wrong with this place?"
"Nothing, really, you know," she said.
Mike smiled. "Binky, you know I write a column every week, and most of the time it's to poke fun at what happens to me. If unnamed female Vietnamese real estate agents aren't going to be a feature of every other column for the next ten years, what's wrong with
this place? Is it haunted? Was somebody murdered here? This is a hell of a place for the price!"
"Really, there isn't much wrong with it," Binky conceded. "Needs a new furnace sooner or later, probably in the five to ten year bracket. The well isn't a good producer, and it's kind of deep, you know, but you can put up with it until you decide you have to fix it.
You've probably got ten years left on the shingles. The washer is OK, but the dryer is junk. The dishwasher sounds like it's junk, but it's OK. That's just normal for the brand, you know. Gil Evachevski will tell you that. The right-side garage door opener doesn't work. There's a lot
of lawn to mow, but there's a guy up the road, Mark Gravengood. He's got a big tractor for mowing, and he doesn't charge too much. And, this isn't the last road the county gets around to plowing and grading, but one of the last ones. Beyond that, I don't know."
"Why is it on the market?"
Binky shrugged. "Bad decision. Couple from down in Camden bought it as a retirement home. They got snowed in for five days back in February. In the middle of it, they ran out of fuel oil, and the truck couldn't get in. Florida looked pretty good to them after that."
Mike frowned. "Guess that means I've got to get a snowmobile, but what the hell? Everybody else in Spearfish Lake has one. You say we can get this for sixty-five cash?"
"That would take it," Binky nodded.
"There's no way we can come up with that much cash, not unless we move our place, first," Mike said. "You said you could get thirty-five on a quick sale? I think Frank Matson would be ready to go the difference."
"You want to stick it to me coming and going, don't you?" Binky protested.
"What do you mean?"
"The only way you can get thirty-five for your place quickly is if I buy it as a speculation. Then you want me to take bottom dollar for this place, too? No way, Jose. I've got to see at least thirty-five difference."
"You mean, you own this place? Thirty-two," Mike said flatly.
Binky thought for a moment. Given time, she probably could stick it to another couple from Camden for seventy-five, but she'd still see ten grand from this rollover, not counting commission that she'd pay herself, and could feel pretty sure of another ten by rolling Mike
and Kirsten's house over inside of sixty days, and it might take months to get seventy-five for this place. If she could time the closing right, she might not have to float any cash at all. Worse, this place was sitting empty, which cost money, and putting renters in here might drag
the value down more than the income she made. And, on a quick turnover, she might have a hell of a time getting the renters out. She came to a decision quickly: "All right, thirty four and a half."
Mike smiled. "There is a number halfway in between that we could come to an agreement on, if Kirsten is willing. You game?"
As Binky nodded, Kirsten came out of the bathroom, the most relieved Mike had seen her since the morning before. She was almost herself again. "I like that bathroom," she said.
